Chapter 128: Midnight Blade, Hidden Truths
Night fell over Fei Wu Quarter like a velvet cloak, soft shadows pooling beneath the ancient trees. The moon hung low and full, its pale light filtering through the dense canopy and casting silver streaks across the worn stone courtyard.
In the stillness, only the sharp whisper of a blade cutting through air broke the silence.
Su Tianhao stood alone before the Thousand-Scar Tree, his figure tense but steady, eyes burning with quiet determination. Each slash of Shadowfang sent ripples of crimson-gold energy into the darkness around him. His breaths came measured—but inside, a storm raged. He was chasing a boundary he hadn't yet crossed, pushing harder despite the fatigue creeping into his muscles.
The only reason he was still standing was the revitalizing pull of his devouring ability—drawn in slow and deliberate, sustaining him past his natural limits.
"Shadow-Splitting Flash—Third Form—
Ninefold Deathflash!"
Shing!
Shadowfang flashed forward, its dark edge bathed in crimson-gold light as Su Tianhao lunged with explosive precision.
Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash!
Four consecutive arcs tore through the air in a blink, so fast they shimmered like overlapping mirages. The force cracked through the courtyard with a low, thunderous boom—each strike leaving narrow gashes along the stone floor and fresh lines across the Thousand-Scar Tree's ancient bark.
Su Tianhao landed firmly, chest heaving, jaw clenched.
"Still not good enough! Again!"
Sweat poured down his face. His robes clung to his skin. The veins across his arms throbbed under the pressure of hours of repetition.
He had trained all this time—and only pushed the count by one?
Unacceptable.
He refused to yield to exhaustion. He hadn't come this far only to fall short of mastery.
He drew a sharp breath, lowered into stance, and focused to a singular point.
"Shadow-Splitting Flash—Third Form..."
His voice was quieter this time. Heavier. Like a hammer pulled back just before the strike.
"Ninefold Deathflash!"
BOOM!
Crimson-gold light burst outward as he moved—
Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash!
Six slashes. Flawless. Fluid. Ruthlessly precise.
The night air split with every blow, a storm of sword energy raging through the courtyard. Even the thick trunk of the Thousand-Scar Tree trembled, several deep lines etched freshly into its bark.
Su Tianhao exhaled hard, chest rising and falling, sweat dripping onto the stone below.
Still far from nine. But it was progress.
---
Hours passed before he finally halted.
The Thousand-Scar Tree now lived up to its name—its trunk covered in countless cuts, some deep, some shallow, others barely visible. Each one a testament to what he had been pouring into the night.
The world had grown quieter. The chaos of sword swings had given way to the gentle hum of crickets and the occasional distant call of night creatures.
Su Tianhao made his way back to his courtyard—head pounding, arms heavy. Despite his devouring ability's regenerative properties, the toll this time wasn't just physical. It was mental. Every slash had been deliberate, every strike a step forward in refining not just his body and muscle memory, but his intent, his understanding, his mastery over the technique itself.
His first stop was the bath. His body was soaked in sweat and grime from hours of relentless training, and even he had his limits when it came to comfort.
After a long, refreshing bath, he changed into a clean set of azure robes. His body felt lighter. His mind slightly clearer.
But instead of seeking rest, he stepped back out into the courtyard—drawn by discipline rather than desire. He crossed to the massive oak tree, its canopy rustling gently in the night breeze. The chill air brushed his skin and stirred his robes, soothing the last of the tension still coiled in his muscles.
"First, recover mentally," he murmured, settling down beneath the oak. "If I can't fix it with devouring, I'll do it the old-fashioned way."
He sank into a lotus position. Eyes closed. Shoulders relaxed.
No cultivation. No sword comprehension.
Just stillness. A quiet meditation beneath the stars.
---
Time drifted like mist on a quiet lake—silent, unnoticed, yet always moving.
When Su Tianhao opened his eyes again, midnight had long since settled. The moon sat at its peak, bathing the courtyard in cold, pale light. The shadows had deepened. Even the wind had gone quiet, as if the night itself had fallen into slumber.
He turned his gaze to the full moon. Its pale glow reflected in his golden eyes.
It reminded him of her—His mother.
"Every moment is precious," he said quietly, the words carrying the weight of a vow. "I must grasp every opportunity to grow stronger—not just to protect myself, but to surpass the legacy my parents left behind."
With his mind clear and his exhaustion gone, he wasted no time.
"Six slashes seems to be my current limit. I can't push further without deeper understanding—I have to comprehend the technique more."
He closed his eyes. His senses severed from the world. His mind turned inward.
The Third Form surfaced before him once more—
---
**Shadow-Splitting Flash — Third Form: Ninefold Deathflash**
A sword strike that transcends timing. The blade moves in perfect harmony with the user's killing intent, delivering nine slashes in a single instant—so swift and seamless they appear as a single flash. Each strike carries the essence of death, guided not by thought, but by instinct refined through countless battles.
---
The familiar description echoed through his mind. But this time, something was different. Sharper. Clearer.
'Let the blade move in perfect harmony with the user's killing intent... Each strike carries the essence of death... I've achieved all of that with my Killing Sword Sense.'
His thoughts spiraled deeper, absorbing each phrase.
'So what am I missing?'
His mind circled back to the opening line.
'A sword strike that transcends timing.'
His eyes snapped open—then closed again immediately, locking onto the phrase.
The meaning was simple in its wording. But the depth behind it was layered, vast. He chased it—and it eluded him. Minutes passed. His head began to throb, pain blooming like hairline fractures across his skull.
He didn't stop.
'I'm close. I can feel it.'
Veins rose at his temples. Sweat traced cold lines down his face despite the night air.
Then—
A stream of insight erupted from somewhere deep within him—drawn from Yuexin's sword inheritance like a long-dormant memory finally awakening.
Speed isn't everything—timing is king.
But not just timing.
Rhythm. Intent. Flow.
The nine slashes aren't simply about how fast the sword moves, but when each slash is released. Each motion must overlap the last—not just in movement, but in intent. Like striking nine notes in perfect succession—distinct yet forming one unified sound.
"This is it."
Su Tianhao's eyes opened, excitement flickering in their golden depths.
'I've been doing this the hard way—forcing everything on my own. But I'm not alone. My parents' inheritance is within me.'
The realization struck like a thunderclap splitting a silent sky.
'Mother also cultivated the Nine Heavens Sword Scripture. She must have already perfected Shadow-Splitting Flash—and every technique connected to it. That means the insights I need are already here.'
"Tch."
He clicked his tongue in mild frustration at himself.
As the saying goes: why search the seas when the treasure lies buried in your own backyard?
'All this time groping in the dark. If I draw insight from Mother's inheritance directly—'
He didn't need to finish the thought.
Without delay, Su Tianhao sank back into his mind—but this time his focus wasn't comprehension. It was excavation. His will pierced through the layers of inherited memory, diving straight toward the truths sealed within. His thirst for mastery turned ravenous, his focus sharp as a blade.
And then, at last—
Ninefold Deathflash surfaced.
A flood of knowledge poured in—profound, dense, impossibly layered. The insights struck like a tidal wave crashing against a lone shore.
Su Tianhao's body tensed. He clutched his head, eyes flying open—wild and overwhelmed.
And then—everything went black.
His body slumped beneath the oak, unconscious.